


Little Faith

by havisham



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Banter, Bickering, It's not creepy because they're in love, Loss, M/M, One of My Favorites, Reunions, Sidekicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, they’re calling me your sidekick now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Faith

**I. Now I'm stuck in New York / And the rain's coming down**

And just like that, Bucky’s gone.

It’s hard to let him go, to see him go fight the good fight... while Steve is here, kicking his heels in the city, with nothing to do and with no one to do it with. And the fact that he’s one of the few able-bodied (broadly speaking) men left in the neighborhood just makes it worse.

(But. Anyone could see _why_ Steve is still here.)

He’s been turned down, _again_ , and all he can think about is Bucky, who must be in the middle of basic training right now. He knows, of course, that Bucky’s done a lot of things that he never could do, but the knowledge doesn’t sit well with him. Not anymore.

The March rain trickles down the collar of his jacket and soaks the shirt underneath. Already his lungs are rattling uncertainly, unsure if they should protest now or later. There’s a tickling in his throat too, deciding whether he ought to sneeze now or later. Wouldn’t be just the icing on the cake if he should get sick now! He kicks a can down the street, disconsolate, and he doesn’t even mind that it goes only a few paces ahead of him.

“Hey!”

Steve tenses, ready for a fight, or more likely a beat-down, but he relaxes as he sees who flagged him down. It’s Edna O’Brien, fifty-three and a graying mother of two -- of Jane, who Bucky had dated briefly and Stu, who had joined up the same time as Bucky.

Stu, they’d played stick-ball with a couple of times. He was a decent kid, had a good hand with the bat.

“Hey, Mrs. O’Brien. Let me help you with that.” And he’s engulfed in boxes and boxes, packed tightly with scraps for the junk-dealer. It’s all a little too much for him, but Steve soldiers on, as best as he can.

“Oh, bless you, dear.” She’s breathing hard, her face red with exertion. He thinks about his own mother, who would be Mrs. O’Brien’s age by now, if she had lived. And he thinks about Stu, out there fighting, with his mom in such ill health.

His thoughts go back to Bucky (his thoughts always go back to Bucky) who is out there too.

Alone.

Mrs. O’Brien is chatting along, and Steve knows it’s rude to let her talk without trying to answer her so he says, “Gee, ma’am, you should let the kids do this for you.”

“Oh no. Stu used to haul this for me. Kids nowadays, well, they’d steal this stuff for themselves. They’re not nice little boys like you, Steve.”

He doesn’t flinch at that. She doesn’t mean any harm by it.

“How’s your friend, that Barnes boy? Jane used to be sweet on him, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know. He’s in basic right now.”

“Oh! I bet he’d look good in uniform.”

Steve shrugs, or tries to. With his hands full of boxes, it’s not a very successful maneuver. They’re almost to the junk-dealer’s door. The boxes are getting heavier all the time.

The inevitable question is asked. “Aren’t you going to join him, Steve?”

“I would, if I could, Mrs. O’Brien.”

She pauses to consider it. She decides. “No. You’re better out of it, dear.”

She’s thinking of Stu. He’s thinking of Bucky.

But then he sneezes, hard enough to almost drop the boxes on the rain-slick streets.

“Bless you!” she says again.

****

**II. You'll find commiseration in everyone's eyes**

He studies the lists of the missing, the lists of the dead. Looking for names (a name) that will jump out at him. Private Stuart O’Brien is on the list of the dead. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is on the list of the missing, presumed captured.

Dazed, Steve thinks of the letters he should write.

  


* * *

  


Agent Carter -- _Peggy_ \-- is careful to point out the facts. She says, “Everyone’s lost someone.”

That’s true, that’s _right_ , and what she doesn’t need to say is that if Steve happens to die during this rescue mission -- which, by the way, isn’t guaranteed to succeed, Steve doesn’t have much in the way of combat experience. Well. It’s just very unlikely that he would reach and secure his objective.

There’s no reason to believe that Sergeant Barnes is even still alive at this point.

And with Dr. Erskine's death, Steve is really one of a kind. If he were to die, if he were to be _captured..._

“We can’t afford to lose you, Rogers,” she says then, her right hand over her chest -- bright red polish on each manicured finger.

But she’s wavering.

(If she hadn’t been, he’d be in jail already.)

He wants. He _wants_ to say the right thing to make her see that this is something he has to do, something he has to do.

All he can do is look at her. Plead with his eyes.

(Agent Carter has soft spot for him.)

She presses her hands closer to her chest. Over a locket, maybe. Or something less sentimental, something less material. To show her loss. There’s no ring on Agent Carter’s finger.

 _Everyone’s lost someone.  
_  
“Go get him back.”

She grins.

He grins back, and gives a silent thanks.

**  
III. All our lonely kicks makes us saintly and thin**

Bucky’s malnourished. His ribs stick out. His face is thinned, and prematurely lined. He’s fighting exhaustion, sleep deprivation. When he breathes, his lungs rattle. He’s been running a temperature ever since they got him back to the infirmary. The doctor on call raises his brows when he’s admitted. “Son, what _isn’t_ wrong with you?”

(It’s like he’s taken up all of Steve’s discarded maladies, but Steve’s ashamed even to think like that.)

He has burns on his arms and hands, from the fire. He’s got older bruises too, marks on his ribs and chest, like he’s been held down as … they did things to him. Experiments. God knows. The whole thing puts knots in Steve’s stomach. It makes him cold with fury, and it’s the kind anger -- a killing anger -- that he didn’t know he possessed. That he didn’t know he was _capable_ of.

When he swears to dismantle HYDRA, it’s not just because he knows it has to be done.

  
*** * ***   


  


Paperwork takes up time, so much time.

Colonel Phillips is definitely steamed at him for the raid, although since it ended with a HYDRA station completely destroyed, important documents recovered and valuable prisoners rescued, he doesn’t ride Steve’s ass too hard about it.

The reams and reams of paperwork he’s assigned to fill out are just procedure, after all.

Even Captain America has to fill out forms.

  


****  


*** * *  
**

 

He doesn’t make an official visit to the infirmary for almost a week. When he does, he catches Bucky’s eye only once. They’re able to give each other distant nods before he’s hustled off to shake hands with other injured men. He doesn’t mind. It’s his duty. No, it’s his honor.

But.

He makes his unofficial visit later, thanks to a nurse named Camille who’s sweet on him, not that he notices. (Or allows himself to notice.) It’s after visiting hours and the lights are dim. The dormitory is quiet except for the night noises of a hospital anywhere.

“Bucky,” he says.

His name rolling off Steve’s tongue like it’s this precious thing, and it is, it is. Bucky stirs, his face shadowed, but Steve is, at heart, an artist, and so he can sketch in the blue of his eye, the red of his mouth.

And he sees the way Bucky’s mouth crumples, the way he blinks furiously, but he’s not crying, he wouldn’t do that, Bucky hasn’t cried since he was a little kid and Steve knows that. In the quiet dark, he touches Bucky’s face -- a warm hand on a cool face -- and brushes off a -- just a fleck of water, that’s all.

“We won’t be separated again,” he says, and prays that fate doesn’t make him a liar.

 

**IV. Lose your heart to history**

It’s too late at night to even refer to it as the night and Steve’s been shot down by Agent Carter _again_ , and Bucky whispers into his ear that maybe it’s never gonna happen, _not ever._ Not even a little bit. Not even when Hitler shoots himself in the head, and this stupid war ends.

And the only reason he’s even able to whisper anything in Steve’s ear at all is because he’s perched on the bar, giving Steve the dirtiest of looks.

(And the dirtiest of grins, the kind that makes Steve’s super-soldier heart do a lap around his chest.)

And he’s too drunk to be taken seriously, and Steve is (always) too sober to get upset, so he does the right thing, which is to take his inebriated friend home, or what close approximation to home they have this week. But they make only so far as Steve’s room which, to be fair, is the only one with a real bed and real sheets. And a door that locks.

And it does, with a firm and friendly _click._

Bucky flies to the bed and pulls the covers over his head with a contented sigh. “You asshole, they wash your sheets.” He breathes deeply. “They use regular soap for this. Only the best for Captain America.” He’s rumpling the sheets, he’s ruining the bed. He hasn’t even bothered to take his boots off.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Steve whispers plaintively. Every word sounds too loud to his ears.

Bucky shrugs, pulling off a boot and tossing it across the room. There goes one. There goes another, just barely missing Steve’s left shoulder. “On the floor. With me. I don’t know. _Some_ people have five a.m. wake-up calls.”

Steve, apologetic, shakes his head. “The cot collapsed, the last time I tried to sleep on it...”

Bucky springs forward, disbelieving. “Are you joking right now? Because if you are...”

Steve sits on the edge of the bed, and it gives slightly. Bucky tumbles closer to him and it’s strange, strange to think how even the spaces their bodies take up has changed. The dynamic has shifted.

Bucky’s crawling towards him. He’s too close. Bucky likes getting too close. He knows it makes Steve nervous, this too-closeness. That’s why he does it.

Steve’s mouth is dry. He licks his lips. “Why would I be joking …?”

Bucky smirks. “Steve Rogers, the most serious man in America.”

They aren’t in America right now, but he knows better than to say so. Steve feels dazed. He’s not thinking straight. He doesn’t have any idea what they’re talking about, or why. He can only look at Bucky’s mouth, which is twitching with mirth, and all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss that mouth.

So he does.

There’s a sharp intake of breath and then Bucky comes to life, and he’s laughing and grabbing on to Steve, squeezing hard. Steve pulls away first, confused. He’s pretty sure... He’s pretty sure Bucky should be angry or something, not grinning like this was the best thing that’s happened to him all week.

When he sees Steve has stopped kissing him, Bucky frowns. He mutters, _“I knew it.”_

“Bucky, I...”

“Let me guess. You’ve wanted this... _forever._ And a day.” Bucky’s tongue pokes out, a little. He’s aiming for an ironic look, but he’s too excited to make it work properly.

“Um.”

Bucky leans back and -- Jesus, he looks so _cocky_ \-- he’s so sure he’s got Steve’s number, all right.

Steve narrows his eyes. “ _You_ like girls.”

Bucky shrugs, cocky grin still in place. “Thought you did too. Looks like we’re willing to make an exception for each other.”

And Bucky is _shameless_ , he is, he’s unbuttoning his shirt like it’s nothing, and Steve is helping him like it’s nothing and it’s not.

It’s _not_ nothing.

“Is it. Is it this?” Steve lets go of Bucky’s shirt and gestures to himself.

All of him, and there’s more there than there had been before.

So.

That’s a concern.

He _should_ be concerned.

(He isn’t as concerned as he should be. Bucky has that effect.)

Bucky sighs. “Steve. What do you want me to say?”

_Uh. Well. How about - you’d do this even if I was this skinny streak of nothing?_

Bucky’s shaking his head, because, well, no. “That I’ve wanted you since forever? I -- Well, I sorta thought of you as a kid brother. Before. The kind that always followed you around and got into trouble …”

Steve cannot let this go without comment. “I followed you around? You followed me around, Barnes.”

Bucky pauses. “Maybe we followed each other around. But the thing is...”

Bucky reaches for him, draws him in, mouth tracing the curves of Steve’s neck, of his collarbone. And Steve, he’s melting against him, he can’t help it.

Bucky is speaking against Steve’s skin. “People change. Happens all the time.”

Steve wants. He wants. All of it. All of Bucky, and even without having his morals agree at this point, he’s shucking off their clothes with practised ease.

But. He pauses. “Not that much.”

Steve _knows_ Bucky.

Bucky gives him a lazy grin, his eyes slits of heated blue. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Bucky _knows_ Steve.

  


*** * *  
**  


And it’s awkward, all starts and stops. Bucky’s not especially helpful, with his yelps of laughter. God, it’s like he _wants_ to get caught. He probably does, actually, but thinking of Bucky’s issues now will just give Steve a headache, he doesn’t want that.

Steve isn’t terribly good at making love -- and it’s not surprising at the least. He feels embarrassed and aches to be _better_ , and Bucky, when he’s not laughing his ass off over this or that, is actually a good enough teacher.

“You’ve done this before... With other...?”

Bucky grins and then he shrugs. This is something they’re not going to be talking about right now.

But Bucky... Oh, Bucky’s easy, he’s so easy, the way he gasps and writhes, the way he shows how much he want this, how much he wants to etch Steve’s name into his own skin.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to ever rid of himself of the spark of possession he feels, the next time (and time after that, and time after that) when he touches Bucky, because he’ll know -- they’ll both know how easy it is to undo him.

_Because you’re mine._

Bucky’s breath stutters. _Yours, yours_ , he moans. (Maybe.)

And when Steve pulls away, lips making a small popping sound as they separate from Bucky’s cock.

They’re both laughing, because this is just a little too much, Steve isn’t... Captain America is a deviant. That’s not funny. It wouldn’t be funny if they were found out. It wouldn’t be funny at all.

_But._

Bucky’s shaking, shaking with laughter now, and it’s because of something deep and joyful. (And because he’s just been blown by Captain America, and yeah, that’s his come that’s dibbling down from the good captain’s shapely mouth.)

Steve wipes his mouth, fighting embarrassment and something that was a little more primal.

Bucky sobers up a little. “You know, they’re calling me your sidekick now.”

Steve who’s settling in beside him, freezes. “My sidekick?”

“Yeah. Captain America and Bucky. His trusted kid-sidekick.”

“We’re the same age...”

“I know. It’s those fucking comics.”

“Oh.”

Then Steve glances at him, sly. “Does this mean you’re my Robin?”

“If you think I’m going to run around without any pants on, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I don’t know. I think you could make it work.” Steve lets his hands travel up Bucky’s thighs, sees the blush that covers his face.

“Fuck, _Steve_.” Bucky’s biting his lip. He looks furious and hapless, undone.

“ _Language_ , partner.”

 

**V. Little faith, follow me**

His hand slips. Bucky falls. Into oblivion.

Into history.

Captain America loses his best friend. His first friend.  
 _  
His first..._

And he’s got that burden. And it rests. On his chest, this deadly weight, this suffocating guilt. He’s got that burden for the rest of his life, which, as it turns out, isn’t as long as all that.

 

He wakes up in a white room (it’s the future no one warned him about) and that weight is still there.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter headings are from the National song of the same name.


End file.
